


Patience

by Tak138



Series: Bren&Cecilly [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Bad Puns, F/M, Femdom, Fights, Matriarchy, Medieval, Meeting the Parents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-13
Updated: 2019-09-13
Packaged: 2020-10-17 10:48:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20619770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tak138/pseuds/Tak138
Summary: Brennon and Cecily head to her hometown to finally officiate their marriage. It goes... not as expected.





	Patience

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my beta Sanguia :)

Horses were obnoxiously expensive. It wasn't even just the beasts themselves, but the tack, the feed, the ferrier equipment, all had to be outsourced from the neighboring town. Not to mention they needed a place to live when it got cold and to keep them protected from predators. 

And now they owned two. One for Cecily, one for Brennon. The initial investment cost her two months of pay. _ Two months _. That was enough to buy them a whole new house, one with an actual bedroom. Instead they had horses, all because Cecily's mother refused to travel for the wedding. As did Brennon's mother. 

They'd been living together for nearly three months. Totally unheard of in the itty bitty village of Ozryn. It was less than ideal for both of them; if Cecily had her way, they would have been wed the next day. Unfortunately, the church wasn't willing to ordain a wedding without a mother present. Some sort of old bullshit tradition that probably wouldn't have mattered anywhere else. Brennon wasn't too happy about it either. 

Cecily didn't trust Ruth not to cause anymore trouble, though she knew how much it would pain Brennon to never speak to his mother again.

After their coupling, when they'd gone to collect Brennon's things, Ruth had stood wide in the doorway. Cold eyed, unwavering.

_ "You come back without her, or you don't come back at all." _

She hadn't spoken to her son since that day, nor had Brennon's two sisters. Cecily had been the one to retrieve his things at a later date, had to use her authority to gain entry. The townsfolk hadn't been too kind to them since then. Thankfully, no one seemed inclined to go teeth to teeth with someone that killed a bear. 

He never said anything, but she saw it in his face whenever his family was mentioned. They tried to compromise in the beginning, urging Cecily's mother to make an appearance in Ozryn so Brennon could feel closer to home. After three months of back and forth letters, it became clear that it wasn't going to happen. 

Cecily had broached the subject just once, after receiving a letter from her mother politely requesting to have the wedding somewhere closer, like her hometown of Velwyn, on account of her father's uncertain health. As soon as she read it, Cecily had known she should have considered that. Her father had never been the healthiest of men, something that followed him since birth. It had actually left him as a single man for many years. Now in his climbing age, things had to be much worse.

Brennon had listened to her read aloud before turning away, shoulders hunched. 

"Bren?" She'd asked carefully. 

"That's really far," he'd murmured, "Mama would never go that far."

"Assuming she'd been willing to come to the wedding period."

Swallowing, Brennon said, "I would like her there…" 

"I know," she sighed, "I would too." 

It was a lie, more or less. 

Her side still pained from the bear fight, Cecily had quietly suggested, "Would you… would you rather not?"

"Not what?" Brennon croaked. 

Cecily let out a long breath, staring at that letter in her hands. "Not… get married?"

Slowly, her husband to be turned, his expression stricken, "Y-You don't want to anymore?"

"I want you to be happy, Bren. And I want you to have your mom."

Brennon had scrubbed at his face, eyes wet with tears. He'd never answered.

The time for negotiations had come and gone. Ruth hadn't relented, so they were forced to make a decision. 

That was how they ended up with two horses on a three day journey to Velwyn. They weren't even good horses, just what the farmers were willing to part with. 

Plodding down a well worn path in the woods, the sun dipping low towards the horizon, Cecily glances to Brennon on her left. He was staring down at his hands, or at the saddle horn.

_ Does he hate me_? 

_ How much does he regret? _

_ I'm going to beat the shit out of his mom when we get back. _

"You're awfully quiet," she says, in hopes he might look at her. Between their horse, that old alley mutt trots along, now named Winnie. Cleaner now, her red coat shining and bright. Happy to have a home. 

"Sorry," Brennon murmurs, "Just thinking."

"May I know what about?"

He bites his lip, face tightening in a way that tells her he would rather not say. 

"I am… concerned," he admits finally, "That your mother may not like me. May not find me up to her standard."

Cecily shrugs. "Things are different where I'm from. If she doesn't like you, we can get married regardless."

"So, we will get married even if no one approves?"

There's a bite to his voice that takes her by surprise. She's never heard it before. 

"If we approve, if we are happy, what does it matter?" Cecily inquires. 

He doesn't respond. He doesn't have to, for her to know what he's thinking. 

These past few months have not been happy. Whereas before, Brennon would have complained about things, his mother mostly— albeit timidly, in the way a well behaved man might whisper out grievances— now he never said a word that wasn't necessary. He still cleaned and cooked and gardened, as was expected, but he didn't seem happy. More than once, Cecily had wondered if crashing the wedding had been a mistake. 

"Are you excited?" She tries again. 

"Yes."

She grimaces, then scowls. The words are out before she realizes. "I wish you would speak the truth to me."

Brennon looks up, startled. "I did. I'm just worried."

"About?" 

"What… what might happen if both of our families turn on us."

"What does it matter?" She huffs. "Unless I'm over here beating you, their complaints are pointless. That 'not good enough' nonsense is out dated."

His jaw clenches. "I would like to have people to talk to."

"Really? Because you've said twenty words to me all day."

Cecily regrets it as soon as she says it. Knows immediately her tone was too harsh. Brennon goes very very still.

"I'm stressed," he says softly, "It's been a stressful few months."

"I know," she breathes, trying to soften her expression. "I'm sorry. If I could have made it easier, I would have."

Again, he's silent. She expects no less. 

  
  


They set up camp the night further into the woods, off the path. Their fire is small, as is their tent. 

Maybe it's the silence, maybe it's the lingering tension, or the way Brennon smiles as he pets his dog. Maybe it's because she's trying to remember the last time he smiled at her like that, and failing. Cecily can't hold it in any longer. Can't bring herself to play warden. 

"Tomorrow we will turn around," she says softly, "I'm sure your mother will receive you with open arms."

Brennon's eyes are wide when he looks at her, voice raw as he croaks, "What?"

Cecily takes a drink from her water skin, willing herself not to waver. Not to let him suffer. "I will not keep you prisoner any longer. We can call this off, and that will be that."

His side of camp is horrifically quiet. So, so quiet. When she looks, Cecily expects to find him smiling again. 

He isn't. 

The tears sliding down his face are nearly glowing in the fire light, his hands clasped tight enough to bruise over his mouth. 

"Brennon," she jolts, standing up. Everything in her body screams _ go to him, go to him _. And yet she doesn't. Unsure what kind of tears these are.

A sob escapes, whimpering and small. It shatters her heart. Slowly she approaches, going to her knees before him and grabbing his arms, "Brennon, tell me what's wrong." 

"I-I'm sorry," he hiccups, "I-I'm so— so _ sorry _, please, please…"

At a loss, Cecily pulls him to her chest. Brennon latches on like his life depends on it, fisting her tunic, burying his face in her neck. 

"Please," he mewls again. He says it over and over, fighting for breath. 

Cecily cups the back of his head, squeezing him tight as she demands, "Bren, what are you begging for?"

Shrill and desperate, Brennon cries, "Please don't get rid of me! I'm sorry I was bad, I'm sorry I don't talk to you anymore, I'm sorry. I'm _ sorry _—"

"Hey, hey, whoa," Cecily whispers, "Whoa, take a deep breath Bren. Like this—" she forces herself to breathe in, counting the seconds as she releases. Brennon tries to match her, gasping for air. Winnie stands nearby, alert and concerned.

She holds him for a long few minutes, heart hammering, until Brennon's wails have quieted to soft weeping. Gingerly, she tries to pull him away, but Brennon whines his disapproval and holds on tight.

Fine. Fine, okay, she can deal with this. Cecily shuffles over to a tree, pulling Brennon with her, and slumps back so she can hold him in her lap.

"Okay," she wheezes, combing a hand through Brennon's sweaty hair, "What's the problem?"

His face is wet and sticky as he buries it in her neck, still keening, still trembling. "Don't get rid of me. I-I know I've been a bad husband, b-but please..." he whispers.

"Brennon, I never wanted to get rid of you," Cecily says in surprise, "I just… you didn't seem happy. Ever since you moved in, you've been miserable."

"I miss my family," he sniffles, "I miss my friends. No one wants to talk to me anymore, and— and if your family hates me I'll have no one and—"

Cecily shushes him, tucking him in close. "No one's going to hate you, Sweetheart. I promise."

Brennon finally leans back, still clutching at her shirt, lip trembling. "I-I… I don't even know anything about your mother. Is she… What's she like?"

It was a veiled question. No man would dare insult his wife's family, let alone the matriarch, by assuming she was anything less than perfect. Still, Cecily brushes her thumbs over Brennon's cheeks, wiping away the tears. 

"She's a fine lady, Bren. You don't have to fret."

"What— what if I do something stupid? What if I get in the way?"

"My mother has a son, she knows what men are like. Not to mention my father," Cecily says, forcing a laugh, "It's going to be alright."

Brennon looks away. Again, he can't seem to meet her eyes. "I didn't even know you had a brother."

Her expression sobering, Cecily brushes some of Brennon's hair out of his face. "I'm sorry I scared you. I just… needed to make sure this is what you wanted."

"I love you," Brennon whispers, voice so small, "I-I just… I want so badly to be a good husband. I want you to like me, I want your family to like me, I want _ my _family to…"

Cecily looks at him, sniveling and miserable in her lap. Gently as she can manage, she says, "I'm going to ask you something, Bren, and I need you to be honest with me. Okay?"

His eyes are wide and maybe a little scared, but he nods. 

"Was there a moment, at any point, where you wished I had let you marry Lilia?"

"What?" He gasps, "No, no, _ no _ . Never, I _ swear _, never. You were always the one I wanted."

Cecily sighs with relief. A weight seeming to lift from her shoulders, she pulls Brennon back to his chest. "Say it again," she murmurs.

"Say what?"

"That you love me."

He makes a small, broken noise in the back of his throat. "I love you. So so much, I'm sorry I haven't said it enough."

"S'okay," Cecily murmurs, "I love you too."

* * *

The next two days passed like some sort of dream. Brennon was all over her; kisses, hugs, holding her hand in between the horses or _ sharing _ one horse. Where he had seldom smiled before, everytime Cecily looked at him he was beaming. 

It didn't feel real. It felt like some retroactive dump of all the affection Brennon had been withholding these past few months. Even so, Cecily tried to ignore her instincts, and let herself enjoy the time as it lasted. 

They came the Velwyn nearing dusk on the third day. Paused on the hill that overlooked the town, Cecily can't help but smile. It had been nearly five years, and it was still the same. Her home: the colored roofs and the winding cobble paths. The sun hanging heavy in the sky, bathing the buildings in ranges of golds. The little pastry shop in the town square. She wonders if that old crone still ran the place.

"It's beautiful," Brennon breaths, as he brought his horse up next to hers, "Which house is yours?"

Cecily scans the roads. There’s little apartments above each shop, usually inhabited briefly by young women, sometimes widowers with children for longer periods of time. But she looked north, to the array of nearly packed cluster of houses arranged on a nearby hill. She points to one of the farthest, it's roof a rain-battered blue. 

"That one. The window facing us was my room."

Brennon follows her finger, cocking his head to the side.

"It's big," he says at last. 

It isn't, not really. A room for herself, her parents, and her brother. There were no servants or help, save for the little urchin boy down the street that sometimes came to collect the garbage. But Brennon had grown up in a tiny apartment little bigger than her own dwelling. She didn't know how many rooms, what with him and his sisters and his mother. Then again, all houses in Ozryn were small. Valwyn must seem like a booming capital in comparison. 

She led them down a nearby path, heading straight for home. Brennon snags her hand along the way, and judging by his sweat slicked palm, he has to be terrified. 

The poor thing. 

In Ozryn, their parents would have met, bargained, and then they would have time to greet each other. Nothing further until the wedding. Barbaric, in truth. Here, things were actually friendly.

Even so, Brennon had to be sorely missing his mother, now more than ever. Cecily squeezes his hand.

"You don't have to be nervous," she says.

Brennon's answering smile is meek at best. "I'm not."

She pretends not to notice the lie and squeezes his hand tighter.

There's a man there to greet them at the little pathway running to the door, and as they greet closer Cecily realized who it was, her heart swelling. She recognized the dark hair, twin to her own, now shot through with grey and white. Had she really been gone that long? Brennon stiffens at the sight, a shudder running through him. 

"Who—" he rasps.

Unable to contain her smile, Cecily says, "My father."

"What's his name?" Brennon blurts, a sudden urgency to his voice. "You never told me— your mother, your brother—"

"My father's name is Lee, my mother is Brielle, and my brother's Wren. Will you please take a breath now?"

She's not sure if Brennon obeys because the next thing Cecily knew she was leaping from the horse and flying at her father, hugging him as tightly as she dared. 

"It's so good to see you," she whispers.

"Careful, you might crush me," her father says in a rasping laugh, holding her just as tight.

There's the sound of footsteps, and Cecily releases her father just enough to see Brennon shuffling closer, eyes down. 

She steps closer, grabs Brennon's trembling hand. "Father, this is—"

"Brennon," he finishes, smiling warmly, "It's a pleasure to finally meet you."

Father extends him a hand, and Cecily doesn't miss the very small flinch. 

"I could say the same, Sir," Brennon replies quietly, their eyes just barely meeting as Brennon shakes his hand. 

His smile unwavering, Father steps aside, gestures to the door, "Come inside, you're just in time for dinner."

* * *

Stepping into Cecily's home feels like entering some sort of hidden world. The walls are nicely paneled, the floors a beautiful bronze wood. From the door, Brennon can immediately see into the dining room— they have a _ dining room _— and spies the two figures already seated. 

"Let me take your coats," says Cecily's father. She makes small chat with him, their voices a dull hum over his thundering heart. As Brennon passes off his coat, he gets the distinct impression he should be the one doing this, taking his wife's coat.

_She's not your wife yet, you twit._ _She can still get rid of you if you mess this up. _

Brennon gulps, praying no one can hear. The terror of their first day, Cecily telling him it was over… the force of it still burns his throat. He can't afford to be bad again, has been trying so desperately to make up for his trouble. 

As he'd laid there that night, wrapped tight in Cecily's arms, Brennon came to realize just how withdrawn he'd become. How impossibly, selfishly distant he'd become in the face of his _ wife _. The woman that had killed a bear and risked everything for him. No wonder she thought to be rid of him.

What was worse than that though, so much worse, was that Brennon still wished he was in Ozryn. So his family could see him wed, know he wasn't a whore. But his mother had made that impossible. 

And now, he was hating himself with the force of a thousand black stars, for not asking about Cecily's family any sooner. How self absorbed did he have to be not realize she had a brother?

"Right this way, you two," says Cecily's father, Lee, walking to the dining room. When she'd marked him earlier, Brennon had realized the resemblance almost instantaneously. They had the same sleek black hair, same oval face. The same narrow, honey gold eyes. 

_ This is where I die _ , he finds himself thinking, as they pass through the threshold into the dining room. The table is _ huge_, the size of a bathtub, with room enough for five people with barely any elbow knocking. And the ceilings were just unbelievably tall, he couldn't have touched them if he tried.

_ She has to hate that tiny box in the woods. _

At the head of the table is a woman Brennon almost doesn't recognize in this wild fever dream. She looks nothing like Cecily, her hair glowing auburn, skin rusty from sun exposure.

_ Brielle_, his mind supplies, and he reminds himself to look away. The boy seated next to her also looks like Cecily, but his eyes are blue instead. He can't be much older than sixteen.

_ Wren. _

The thought leaves a stinging trail of shame through him, and Brennon swallows hard. Cecily gestures to her mother, voice still so quiet to his ears. He has to guess what she says.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Ma'am. Thank you for welcoming me into your home," he breathes. Tries to sound grateful, tries to sound happy. Tries not to start crying. 

Cecily's mother is all smiles, a crescent moon of beaming teeth. "The pleasure is ours, Brennon. Please have a seat. Wren, help your father with dinner."

Then the two men are leaving, leaving him alone. He wants to curse but doesn't dare, even in his own head. Lest his expression betray anything. 

"Please have a seat," Brielle says, gesturing to their end of the table. She's at the head, while Cecily sits opposite her. Brennon continues to stand, like an idiot. Brielle eyes him for a minute, her head tilted, "Is there a problem?"

"Bren?" Comes Cecily's voice. 

Brennon stares straight at the table, ignoring the tremble in his limp "A-am I allowed?" He asks. Something in the woman's expression gives way, a rushing flood slowed to a stream.

"Of course," she says, and he sits. 

Under the table he seeks Cecily's hand, only to realize they're set on the table.

"Really, Cea, where did you find this boy?" Brielle sighed... It doesn't sound mean.

He can feel both of them staring at him, Cecily saying, "Actually, this is the first time this has come up. Why did you ask, Brennon?"

He doesn't know what to say. Just chokes out a small, "Miss Lilia," and Cecily's whole body stiffens. 

"Witch," she hisses under her breath. 

"Who?" Asks Brielle.

Brennon feels his stomach sink to the floor. 

Cecily scowls as she answers, "A lady back in Ozyrn. The one I won him from." 

"Oh," is all Brielle says, with a coldness in her voice that mimics Cecily's. His face burns red hot. Suddenly, there's a hand on his and he lurches from his skin. It's her, Cecily's mother, her expression so weirdly soft and her face so close to his, Brennon doesn't quite understand. "You are always allowed to sit with us, Brennon," says the matriarch, her voice gentle and slow, "Always. You're to be family, that means you go where we go."

… there's something about how she says it that fills his mind with quiet. A total calm, coupled with bone crushing relief, like he's come in from a dark night to a warm home. 

"Do you understand?" Brielle asks. Her hand in his is tender, holding but not _ holding._

"Yes Ma'am," he whispers, all the air leaving him at once. 

Brielle smiles and pats his cheek, "You're precious."

Brennon turns ever redder, though no longer with shame

And just like that, the tension is shattered. Brennon leans back in his chair, finally able to breathe again. Cecily grins at him, "Better?"

"Better," he agrees.

Dinner is served then, small bowls and platters of meat, potatoes, and vegetables, and again Brennon is surprised. Wren goes around the table, distributing plates. One for everyone. 

He must keep the surprise off his face, because no one says anything as they reach for portions. At first, he suspects he's supposed to wait with Wren, as Lee piles his plate high, but then the younger boy reaches for the potatoes as soon as Cecily passes them.

This is… familiar, if unexpected. In a daze, Brennon takes his pick of the helpings, half expecting someone to smack his hand away or at least glare in his direction. His family had always dined together, at equal times, up until this last year when it was decided he should begin preparing for a wife. Then he'd been required to eat after everyone. Quietly, in the depths of his own mind, Brennon always figured it was his mother trying to skirt doing the dishes. 

When his family had met Miss Lilia's, he hadn't even been allowed to sit at the table with everyone else. Just stand at the back of the room, alongside Lilia's ghost-eyed father and brother-in-law to have whatever remained, and of course clean up.

He and Cecily always ate together. It had never been a question, and it shouldn't have been so shocking considering he was already seated.

"So, Brennon," Lee says from across the table, "How old are you?"

"Twenty this summer, Sir," Brennon replies softly. 

"Twenty?" echoes the young one, eyes wide, "Isn't that kind of old?"

"It… is," Brennon agrees tentatively, "But my mother insisted that I wait."

"Did it help?" Wren asked. 

"Help with what?"

Wren shrugged, looking away. "Are you glad you waited?"

He considered that for a minute, settling back in his seat and glancing at Cecily. At her dimmed smile. "Yes," he said finally, "Not to speak ill of… anyone else, but I'm glad I waited. I wouldn't be here otherwise."

Wren seemed satisfied with that. The rest of the meal passed pleasantly, conversation largely flowing between Cecily and her parents. Brennon had to regretfully admit that he wasn't really listening. His focus was on the image of his wife just then, and her non-smile.

_ She thought I would say no_.

Gods, he was a disaster. 

After dinner, Brennon helped collect the dishes and carried them to the kitchen. 

"You know, you don't have to do that," Lee says, when Brennon started towards the wash basin. "Wren and I can handle it."

"I… would like to help, if you wouldn't mind Sir," he replies, voice small. 

The man eyes him for a minute, and suddenly Brennon panics, wondering what he did wrong, if his shirt is buttoned right, if there's something in his teeth—

Lee just smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling, "Alright. We really appreciate it. You can never have too much help around here."

Brennon sighs with relief, managing to relax for half a second before he got a better look at the wash basin. It seemed imbedded into the counter, its handle strange and only half curved.

"Um, Sir?" He asks, knowing he was about to look like the biggest fool in the world, "How do I fill it up?"

Lee peers over his shoulder, "You mean the sink?"

"Yes Sir," Brennon whispers. Leaning over his shoulder, Lee reaches for that weird handle and grabs a knob at its base, twisting. Brennon flinches as water starts pouring, nearly dropping all of the plates. 

"Easy," Lee chuckles, a hand on his arm, "You never see a sink before?"

Brennon shakes his head, watching in awe as water flows, and vanishes into a hole at its bottom. Lee's expression sobers.

"Is Ozryn really that small?"

"It's a nice town," Brennon murmurs, as he tries and fails not to feel defensive, "It just… doesn't have this."

Again, he can't help but feel inadequate about his home. Cecily has to hate it there, so why does she stay?

While Wren goes to wipe the table, Lee positions himself drying dishes as Brennon washes. It's easy work, and the soap smells like sage. Dishes have always been easy for him, but now that he doesn't have to change out the water every so often makes things go by much quicker. 

Quietly, over the sound of running water, Lee says, "I'm sorry your mother couldn't be here."

"Don't be, Sir," replies Brennon, trying to keep a pep to his voice, "She's just old fashioned."

As he sets a plate aside, Lee nods. "Some women are just like that. You're allowed to be upset about it, though."

"Why would I be upset, Sir?"

"Because it hurt you? Hurt your family?" He says, laughing softly. 

Brennon shakes his head, "She didn't mean to. She just wants what's best for me."

"Maybe so. But I bet it still hurt, it's okay to be upset."

His hands pausing, Brennon swallowed, "She raised me and my sisters by herself, fed us all, took care of us as best she could. How could I ever be angry at her for anything?"

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Lee's expression flicker to bewilderment. By the time he gives him another cup, it's gone. 

"I loved my mother very much," the man says at length, "But she knowingly played me a bad hand in life, and to this day I mourn what could have been. Doesn't mean I loved her any less."

Against his better judgment, Brennon says, "Things are different here. Where I'm from, mothers are saints. We have no right to be unhappy with anything they do for us."

"Even if it hurts you? Or the one you love?"

He doesn't have an answer for that, so Brennon falls silent. When the dishes are done, Lee clapped him on the shoulder, "Thank you for your help. The ladies are probably in the front room if you'd like to join them."

"What are you going to do?" He asks softly. 

Lee smiled, grabbing one of the freshly cleaned cups, "My wife likes tea after dinner."

Brennon nods and considers joining Cecily once more, until he notices there's a tremor to Lee's hands as he sets the kettle on the stove. It's not extreme, but he suspects it may grow worse as the work wears on. Probably related to that 'bad hand' he referenced. 

Cautiously, he offers, "I can do that for you, Sir."

Lee pauses. For a moment, he looks like he might decline, and then he smiles sheepishly, "Thank you Brennon, do you need any help?”

“No, I just need to know what she likes,” he says.

From there, it’s overwhelmingly easy. Pour the water, steep the leaves until the water is a rich red, then a single spoonful of sugar. Lee won’t stop grinning at him, won’t stop offering thanks or praise. It’s a weird sensation, to be so thoroughly drunk on kind words. It’s never happened before. Definitely not with Mama; Cecily is infinitely warmer and more liberal in that sense. This, though, was a whole new thing.

He definitely didn’t have to wonder why Cecily was as lovely as she was.

“Would you like me to bring it out to her, Sir?” Brennon asks. 

Lee says yes, grinning like it’s the best day of his life. It leads Brennon to wonder just how much help he actually gets around the house. 

He locates the front room with more difficulty than he would ever dare admit. The house is like a maze, with more hallways and bedrooms than any one family could need. In the front room, Cecily and her mother sitting on a little loveseat by a curtain window.

“Is that for me?” Brielle chimes as he finally walks in.

“Yes Ma’am.”

She smiles, and it warms his heart enough that he doesn't notice his foot catch in the rug. 

From there, things move in slow motion. He trips, hitting the floor with a thundering boom. The cup lurches from his hands and shatters into a dozen pieces, spilling tea _ everywhere. _

Silence. 

Brennon can only lie there on his belly, mind so impossibly still, the ceramic shards just before his fingers. Seated on the couch, Cecily and her mother only stare. Not blinking. A roaring sound fills his ears.

For a moment nothing happens. But then Lee appears in the archway, "What was th— _ oh _."

He doesn't think, can't think, as a blinding sense of panic sings through his veins.

He runs. Shouldering past Lee, through the door, bypassing the dozing dog and the grazing horses. Until he's swallowed by the woods, and can't see the house anymore.

His legs give out, and Brennon topples to the ground. It's soft with moss and fallen leaves, and he doesn't move. He's not sure he could move even if he tried. The tears take him by surprise, vicious heaving sobs that steal his breath.

_ It's over. You're done, it's all done. Ruined. _

The word curdles in his belly, rancid and dying. 

_ Ruined. _

He ruined everything. They had been so kind to him, so forgiving and welcoming and kind. They might have even liked him, Lee _ liked _ him, and now it was in ruins. Blistering, blazing ruins. 

The woods were so dark, distant lights flickering from the direction he'd come. So far. How far had he run? 

The trees so much taller here, the leaves thicker. Where is the moon? He'd never been out on a night without a moon. Never been out this late without someone to look after him. On his front, the dampness of the ground bleeding through his tunic, Brennon buries his face in his arms and tries to stifle his cries.

He wants to go home. To that quaint little house in the woods. With his wife and dog. Away from these expectations that he'd never be able to fulfill. 

_ Is it home anymore? _

The thought leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. Cecily said she wouldn't mind if they were alone, without the support of their families. Did she mean it? 

_ Even if she did _ , Brennon thought, a quivering scowl forming on his face, _ she probably didn't factor in me being an absolute embarrassment. _

He wonders what's happening back at the house. If there's any yelling, if Lee is regretting having ever showed him a blink of kindness. Brielle must be livid. Not only at him but at Cecily as well, for bringing such a disgrace into their amazing home. His heart burns at the thought, fear winding around him like a crushing serpent. 

_ She's going to get rid of me. It's my fault, she's going to get rid of me. _

_ I'm going to be a whore. _

"You know, this whole this is just tear-able."

Brennon jerks, head snapping towards the source of that voice. Cecily stands just a few feet away, the dog sitting obediently at her feet. 

She isn't looking at him. 

He swallows, a storm of fresh hot tears pouring down his face. "I-I'm sorry."

A quirk of an eyebrow. Her expression is so carefully impassive, it makes him want to throw up. "I imagine so," Cecily says at length, "You left a pretty big mess."

"You're mad." It's not a question, and he isn't sure what compelled him to say something so painfully obvious. 

"Yes. But I believe we have bigger problems afoot."

Brennon can feel all the blood leave his face. His body. It leaves him cold and chilly. At last Cecily looks at him, still stoney, still unreadable. He has to resist the urge to shrink away and burying himself alive. 

Finally, after what must be an eternity, Cecily asks, "Why have you been so nervous all evening?"

"What?" He sputters, taken so far by surprise that his world fuzzes around the edges.

"Why have you been so nervous," she reiterates slowly. Brennon can only gape.

"It's… isn't it normal?" He whispers, "Aren't I— aren't I supposed to be nervous?"

"To a degree, yes. Though, as my mother has pointed out, you've looked halfway to death all evening. I get the sense there's something you're keeping from me."

That serpent slowly constricts around him, pain building in his chest as he mewls. "I-I love you, I _ swear _I love you."

"I believe you," she replies slowly, "But that's not what I asked."

His lip begins to quiver, heart beating hard enough to shake his whole body. Carefully, Brennon pushes himself up to his feet, leaves clinging to his shirt and pants. 

"Brennon," Cecily says, and there's a bite to her voice he's never heard before. "What are you keeping from me?"

He can't face her, can't even look _ at _ her. Instead, he looks at the dog. Their dog. So happy and healthy. When she gets rid of him, will she keep it? 

"I lied to you, earlier," he admits quietly.

Cecily sucks in a breath. "When?"

Wiping his face, skin growing chilly from the night air, Brennon whispers, "You remember a few weeks ago, when my sister called me a whore."

"... yes," she hedges, "You came home in a heap, and wouldn't let me touch you."

"Well, that's not why I was crying."

From the corner of his eye, he sees her expression flash to confusion. "Then why?"

For a moment, Brennon gets the furious sensation to run away. Turn and run just a little bit more, leave this whole mess behind. But… he needs to tell her. Even if it breaks both their hearts. 

"After she walked away, I had a thought… 'this would have never happened if I married Lilia'."

Silence. Dead silence. He could have sworn even the crickets fell silent. 

Then— "Oh."

It shatters his resolve like a sheet of paper thin glass. 

"I'm sorry!" He yelped, "I'm sorry— I didn't— it was only once, only the one time I _ swear. _"

He looks at her now, searching her face for anything. _ Anything _. There's nothing, and it's worse that before. Before, her expression had been casual, unbothered. Now, it's as though the soul has left her body.

"You have to understand—" he begs. Cecily holds up a hand, stopping him in his tracks.

He sees now, bile swelling in his throat, that she's trembling. He watches her blink, swallow. Softly, she says, "What do I have to understand?"

"I…" he doesn't know what to say. Doesn't know how to fix this, how to make it better, how to ignore every instinct of his body as it screams _ help her _. "It's just… too much," he says, and waits for the world to collapse. 

Her brow narrows, head tilting. "What is?"

"All of it," he swallows, "All of it. The town, our families, the wedding— I can't take it."

"You'll have to be more specific than that," she quips, and it burns him like a brand.

"Forget I said anything," he blurts, "I'm sorry, I was being stupid, I—"

"No!" She snaps, "No, you don't get to do that. Tell me what the fuck you mean."

He can't, he wants to but he can't. He opens his mouth, but all he can manage is a pathetic whimper. Cecily's face twists, and she hisses, "It's too much for _ you? _ You know how hard I tried to compromise with your mother, how hard I had to fight my commanding officer not to be moved?"

"What?" He croaks.

"Yeah. Your mother and her cronies apparently sent letters to my commanding officer demanding to have me removed from my post for disorderly conduct."

"I'm sorry. I didn't..."

"And on top of it all, my husband hardly spoke to me for _ two months. _ So for Gods' sake, tell me what's wrong so I can try and fix it!"

The forest spins around him, temples throbbing. Meekly, he whispers, "I-It's too much…"

"What?" She demands.

Something inside him breaks.

"It's too much!" He screams, "It's too much! I lost my family, my friends, my whole life! And then you expect me to whip around and be the perfect husband, meet your family, your mother, who I know nothing about? I lost everything, I lost _ everyone _. You know how long I dreamed about having my mother at my wedding?'

Cecily looks at him, eyes distant. "What did you want me to do, Brennon? You begged me to get you out of that marriage and I did."

"Yeah, and you burned every single one of my bridges while you were at it," he spits. 

And then the fire dies. He's left vacant and cold and… horrified. For a minute, he can only stare, hands clapped over his mouth. Cecily blinks at him, once, twice, and then her entire expression goes dark. A shrouded moon.

"I'm sorry," she says, "I tried. I got you out, I thought that's what you wanted. I'm sorry you lost your family, but did you ever think that maybe it's not my fault? Maybe it's just the area? That sort of stuff never happens here, you know."

He can't make a sound, can't even flinch, as she strides for him. She stops just a foot away and opened her mouth as though she wanted to say something further, then closed it. She grabbed his hand, "C'mon. I'll take you home, hopefully you can put this whole thing behind you."

She tugs. Brennon doesn't move. "I don't want to," he whispers. 

Cecily huffs, "Fine. What _ do _you want to do?"

"I… didn't know she tried to get you discharged. Why didn't you tell me?"

"She's your mother. It wouldn't have changed anything," she says. Something about that makes his insides roil in shame, and he's maybe almost about to disagree, when Cecily looks down at him. "You hurt yourself."

He blinks, looks down at his leg. On his pant leg, he can see a darker, reddish patch spreading across his knee. He hadn't even noticed. "Must have happened when I tripped," Brennon murmurs. She sighs, squeezes his hand, and pulls him to a nearby log.

"Sit. Let me take a look at it."

He obeys, only because it feels like all the energy has left his body. 

As she pulls up his pant leg, examining what must be a pretty hearty scrape, Brennon blurts, "I love you."

Her eyes flick up to his, then back down. "I love you too." 

Somehow it hurts, worse even than when she presses the hem of her shirt to the wound. He winces, staying otherwise silent. 

They stay like that for a little while, quiet, as she peers over his wound. _ It can't be that bad, _he thinks, _ why hasn't she moved yet? _ And, shamefully, Brennon finds himself hoping she stays as long as possible.

He wants to keep when Cecily pulls his pant leg back down. "You never answered my question," She sighs.

He swallows. "What was it?"

"What do you want to do?"

"I…" he feels more tears aching in his throat and has to fight to keep them down. "I don't want to go."

"Okay," Cecily says easily, rocking back on her heels. She stays before him though, and it's all Brennon can do not to launch into her arms. 

"What did you mean when you said 'that sort of stuff never happens here'?" He asks softly. 

"Well…" she sighs, running a hand through her hair. "Men around here aren't nearly as… strictly managed, as they are in Ozryn. A man can marry whomever he wants, can sleep with whomever he likes whenever he likes. Men tend to live with their wives for a bit before actually getting married as well."

His face twists, "I… don't know if that's right."

"Perhaps not," Cecily sighs, "And few actually like it. But, most believe that as long as a man can remain loyal to his wife and put his life of nonsense behind him, then all is well. They're redeemed." 

"Sounds… nicer."

"It is," she agrees, and Brennon gets the distinct sense she wants to say more. 

He looks away. "I'm sorry about what I said."

"It's alright."

"No it's not," he croaks, "I shouldn't… I shouldn't have blamed you. I know it's not your fault. It's just hard."

Her lips quirk, "Trust me. I can imagine."

And… yes. She definitely could. 

Quietly, Brennon says, "What would you do if… I said I wanted to wait."

Cecily blinks. Shrugs. She sits back, propped up on her palms. "Then I would recommend we stay here until you're ready. Avoid more trouble."

"Could you move here? Would— would your commanding officer allow it?"

"Probably," she breathes, "She'll probably be happy to stop receiving letters."

Brennon swallows again, his face so cold. "If we can, I… I want to wait. Just a little bit, so I can… get used to, you know…"

"Not living with a bucket load of hate outside?" She snorts. 

"Yeah…"

She tilts her head again, smiling a bit, "What is it Brennon?"

"Do you… still want to get married?" He asks softly. 

Her expression softens. "Yes, Bren. I still want to get married, when you're ready. If anything, I think some time could be good. We haven't really had a chance to really enjoy one another."

After a minute Brennon slips off the log to sit next to her. "I am sorry, really," he swallows, "I didn't mean it."

Her hand combs through his hair. The sensation is so glorious he could purr. "I forgive you," Cecily whispers, then she snorts again, "I've never heard you yell like that before."

He smiles sheepishly, "I don't think I've ever yelled before."

"I should have Wren take you out on the town," she muses softly, "Get you used to how things are around here."

Feeling brave, Brennon leaned against her shoulder, "Do you think your parents will be alright with housing me?"

"Of course, Bren. They're not vindictive. Just apologize."

He nods, falling quiet. He's used to silence, but not like this. It feels… taut. Unhappy. 

She might have forgiven him, but she probably won't be forgetting any time soon.

That's okay. He can fix it, as long as he's with her he can fix it. 

  
  


Cecily leaves with her mother a week later to get their belongings, leaving him alone with Wren and Lee. He tried not to cling to her too hard when she gives him a parting hug. Cecily had only laughed, promised to be back shortly, and kissed him until he was red in the face and breathing heavy. 

"I love you," she murmured, smiling like everything was okay.

"I love you too," he replied. Then she was gone, and he missed her more than he ever could have imagined. She even took the dog. 

That evening he ate, silently did their dishes, and hid in Cecily's room. The bed was small enough that they hadn't been able to share it without holding on another, the sheets white and crisp. He held the pillow to his chest all night, breathing in her scent, and praying everything would be okay. That was how he spent their days apart. He did his fair share of the chores, ate when they did, but beyond that he avoided them. 

Part of him feared how awful he was making himself look, a selfish welp that though himself too good to socialize with his wife-to-be's family. The rest of him was too scared of doing further harm to care.

One day, he was attempting to make bread for dinner that evening. The oven was vastly different from the one he was used to. It didn't hold heat the same, or held too much of it, if his burnt test loaf was anything to go by. So he tried again, and set himself on the ground to watch through the little glass panel on the oven's front. Trying to keep his mind occupied.

"What's this?" Asks Wren, going to the counter to grab the coal black bread loaf.

"A mistake," Brennon breathes, his eyes never leaving the oven, "Hopefully this one will turn out better."

He winces as Wren bangs the bread on the counter, the sound like stone on stone. "Are you sure you used to be a baker?"

Shoulders slumping, Brennon says, "Yes. I'm trying, I promise."

It was quiet for a moment, before Wren came to sit next to him on the ground. "You know, no one's mad at you."

"I'm sorry?"

"For spilling the tea. Or anything else. No one's angry with you."

"Oh," he swallows, "Thank you."

"I mean it," Wren insists, "You don't have to walk around like you expect us to hit you. Men make mistakes, it's what we do."

Unable to help himself, Brennon runs his fingers through his hair and snorts, "I don't know how many men meet their wife's family for the first time, break a cup, stain the rug, and then run away."

"I've got a worse story for you," Wren hums, teeth flashing.

Brennon's brows go up. "You have a wife? How old are you?"

"I'm sixteen, and I'm courting, yes. I've known her all my life, but we're gonna wait. You wanna hear it or not?" 

"... yes. Tell me, please."

"So," Wren begins, stretching his hands towards the warmth bleeding off the oven, "She's only got a mother, and I always thought this woman was a sweetheart. A real peach, you know?" 

"Yes," he says, only because it's expected of him.

"So I'm at her house for dinner and, to spare you the ugly details, I threw up all over the table. And the heirloom table runner."

Brennon looks at him, aghast. Something that can only be described as second hand panic flits through him. "You didn't."

"I did," he says, smiling wolfishly.

"What happened?"

"Oh, she threw me out," Wren chuckles, "Out on the stoop like a dog, covered in my own mess. And that was only after she whacked me over the head. I didn't know what to do, I couldn't walk through town like that, so I just sat there until Mother came to see what was taking so long."

Brennon could only gape, unable to fathom—

"As it turns out the chicken wasn't cooked well enough. Both her and my girl got sicker than dogs. It just hit me faster."

"Gods," Brennon whispers, "You— are you two okay after that?"

"Oh, yeah. I apologized for the tablecloth, her mother apologized for nearly killing me. Even-steven."

He ponders it for a minute, head still reeling. "Are you sure no one's mad at me?" he asks at last.

Wren claps him on the shoulder, "Definitely. You should have heard Father when you peeled out, he kept saying 'that poor boy' over and over. And Mother just couldn't stop laughing."

Finally, Brennon feels himself begin to relax. He's never spoken to a man like this. Carefree, open. It makes him thankful they're staying here for a little while. 

"So, what's Ozryn like?" Wren asks. To Brennon's surprise he hasn't left yet. Hasn't grown bored. 

"Well, it's small," he says, tucking his legs in close, "Very wooded. Lots of bears."

"Bears?" Wren echoes, "We don't get those around here. Mostly coyotes."

"Lots and lots of bears. Honestly, too many. Actually— your sister killed one of them."

Wren's eyes peel open, "_ What? _"

"I'm inclined to agree." Brennon flinches as Lee appears in the doorway, a bemused look on his face. "Surely you must be joking?"

He doesn't know whether to be afraid or proud. "No sir. She killed it and presented its head to my mother in an attempt to win my hand."

"No way!" cries Wren, "Was it big?"

"Probably? I didn't get to see."

Lee was shaking his head, seemingly fighting a smile, "Crazy crazy girl. Evidently, it didn't work."

"No," Brennon says, grinning bright enough for the both of them, "She had to win it another way."

"And you're happy? With her, I mean," Lee asks.

His smile flickers. "Yessir. I love her very much."

"But your life hasn't been very easy since that day, has it?"

"I…." He hesitates for a long minute, a million sentences rolling through his head. Finally, Brennon says, "I was unhappy, yes. And… yes, there was a moment when I blamed her, though the more and more I think about it, I realize it wasn't her fault. She was trying to help me and she did. Everyone else just… tried to ruin it."

And then Lee is smiling, beaming really, and comes all the way across the kitchen to tousle his hair. "You're a good kid, Brennon. You make Cecily happy. I think some time in a big town will be good for you." It's all he says before leaving. And Brennon is left wondering what it might have been like if his father had still been alive when he'd been born. 

If he'd been born here instead of that small town on the springs. 

He's pretty sure things would be quite different. 

  
  


As soon as he spies Cecily on the horizon, nearing two weeks later, Brennon bolts from the house and sprints as fast as he can. The dog meets him first, jumping, yapping and wagging its fluffy tail as Brennon scratches her all over. 

"You look happy," Cecily says as she arrives. In her arms is his favorite hare-skin jacket, bought off a traveling merchant to celebrate their getting together all those weeks ago. "I figured you'd want this now."

Brennon can't help but beam, and throw his arms around her, "I missed you."

"I missed you too, Bren," she mumbles, and kisses his cheek. She wraps the jacket around his shoulders, her arms slowly constricting around his middle. They don't hurt. Don't steal his breath or stifle his heartbeat. He'd been a little concerned about how things might be when she got back, if they would be different, or worse. But now, wrapped in one another's arms, her breath warm and lovely on his shoulder, Brennon knows his concern was unfounded. 

"Did you get everything? Did anyone cause you trouble?" He asks softly. Behind him the dog is still yapping, probably thanks to Wren giving her well deserved attention. 

Cecily noses his cheek, her hand clutching lightly at his hair. "We got everything that was ours. And no, no trouble. But your mother sends her apologies."

Brennon blinks, withdrawing just enough to look at her face, "Apologies? What do you mean?" 

She shrugs, expression soft, fond. "She didn't give specifics, just found us at the cabin and, after we explained what was going on, she said 'tell Brennon I'm sorry'." He must be scowling, because Cecily laughs, "That was _ not _ the look I was expecting."

"She should have apologized to you. I'm not the one she wrote hate mail about."

"While I agree wholeheartedly, take the victory as it comes," she whispers, and his heart swells as she rests her brow against his. "At least she knows she hurt you, yeah?"

"Yeah," he agrees, and it's a lie. A very, very small one. So much smaller than the one he told before. One he's not sure he could ever admit, except maybe to Lee.

_ Mama was wrong. _

It seems impossible, beyond comprehension. Mama's never been wrong before. Or… maybe she had, and he just never dared think otherwise. 

That wasn't so bad, right? He still loved her, still loved Elisa and Deanna, just… they were wrong. Somehow, in some way he couldn't understand yet, they were wrong. It didn't make him a bad man.

He's not a bad man. Right?

Cecily kisses his cheek, snapping him from his thoughts. "Are you alright?" She asks.

Brennon nods and buries his face back in her neck. "Just surprised. She's never apologized before."

There's a moment of quiet. He can guess what she's thinking. He's seen Lee, seen Wren. Happy, healthy men. Open, in a way they never could have been in Ozryn. She doesn't mention that though, to his relief. Instead, Cecily hums, "Your mother mentioned something else."

"Hm?"

"She agreed to come to our wedding. Whenever we're to have it."

A laugh sputters out of him, bright and bubbly. "What? How— all the way out here? _ How? _"

"Who knows. I suspect it might have something to do with a certain matriarch suddenly getting a craving for bread."

"She didn't," he rasps, voice cracking, "Oh, Cecily—"

She shushes him, hand running a lazy line up and down his back. "Mother can be very convincing when she tries. I told her how much you wanted your mother there when it happens, she wouldn't let it go."

"But why? I don't understand! She— I _ broke _ one of her cups."

"Gods Brennon, it's a cup," she laughs, "It's a material possession. Your feelings mean more to her than that."

He steps back, hands on his face to hide the swelling tears. "Why?" He whispers again, "Why would she do this?"

Cecily snorts, "Because she's a damn good mother and a damn good matron."

Finally, he looks at her again, and his face has to be so red because Cecily's face twists in sympathy. "You've done so much for me, Cecily," Brennom whispers, "You and your family. I don't— I don't understand why you find me this worthy of your love, after everything I've said and done."

"Because Brennon," she coos, face splitting into a massive grin, "Life without you would be un-bear-able."

He groans, tears vanishing, "Did you really have to? _ Really _?"

She cackles, plucking at his jacket, "What! There's no bunny like you!"

"Did you set that up—"

"You know Brennon," Cecily goes on, and points at the dog, "Life would be so doggone ruff without you!"

He bursts out laughing, "You got a list now?"

"Listen, the ride here was boring. I wrote down as many as I could think of."

"How many?"

She smiles at him, her whole face radiant. Everything in him goes pleasantly quiet.

"With any luck? Enough to last a lifetime."

**Author's Note:**

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